


Stopping Time

by snarkyscorp



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-20
Updated: 2009-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-05 22:05:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/411495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarkyscorp/pseuds/snarkyscorp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the tremors cease, Scorpius is slumping against Albus, mouthing warm nothings against his red neck, kissing the thick-pulsing veins, licking the love-bites he left behind. Albus slides his fingers through Scorpius' soft hair. They kiss. Time stops.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stopping Time

Outside, it is raining on a cold October evening. The clouds are dark, looming over the castle and casting angry shadows across the floorboards.

Inside, the mood is tremulous. Albus and Scorpius stand separated by surprise but nearly nose-to-nose.

"Did you..." Scorpius begins, awkwardly. "I mean—we could—again—if you want."

Albus is stone-faced, his skin blotched with red and his trousers tight and his head spinning. Whatever Scorpius has done to him, he knows there is no going back from it, no getting over it, no forgetting. Whatever he decides—and Scorpius is making it perfectly clear that he _must_ decide—will become their future. Albus doesn't like the pressure pounding down over his shoulders like dull weights snapped from their bonds.

"What if I didn't like it?" Albus asks, taking one small step back in defeat, his green eyes defiant.

The color is sucked out of Scorpius' face like a whip cracking in the air. He opens his mouth, then closes it, then opens it again, and finally chooses to scowl with his fine blond brows knitted tightly together.

"It's bloody clear that you liked it, Al," he says tersely. "But it's fine. If you don't want to do it again, then fine."

"You're angry."

"Just disappointed."

Albus feels guilty and in pain, like someone has just wrenched his heart straight out of his chest and tossed it to the sea. Scorpius turns away and lifts one foot to start his journey back to Ravenclaw. Albus stops him on impulse, fingers catching Scorpius' pale skin at the jut of his bony elbow.

"Don't go," Albus says.

Scorpius turns back, slowly. They stare at one another. It is clear that Scorpius is expecting Albus to say more, to either say he wants another kiss or he just wants to stay best mates, but Albus' throat is dry and his dick is pulsing something awful and he can't barely hear over the dull throb of his heart.

Inside, Albus is pleading: _don't go, Scorpius, don't go_. Outside, he is stoic and stiff. He just grips Scorpius tightly and hopes Scorpius can read the expressions flickering obviously in his eyes.

Scorpius moves forward suddenly, takes Albus' wrists and pins them to the wall above his head.

"What are you doing?" Albus snaps, eyes wide and body arching. He is so much stronger than Scorpius, and he knows he can pull away if he wants. Maybe he doesn't want that.

"Showing you," Scorpius says, eyes dark. "This is what I want." His free hand swims over Albus' body, sending rippling shudders through Albus' lithe form. "This is what I've wanted since the first day I met you on the train, since the first time you said my name, since the first time I snuck into Slytherin dormitories and slept there beside you, since the first time you touched my shoulder or clasped my hand or hugged me or whispered a secret in my ear. Do you know how often I think about kissing you?"

"Scorpius, don't," Albus says, wincing a little. He has never…but of course he's thought about it, too. Since the first time Scorpius crawled into his bed after sneaking out of Ravenclaw for the night. Since the first time Scorpius gripped his hand at a Quidditch match on impulse, since the first time Scorpius spent a summer at his house, since somehow the first time they met, even before Albus knew what it was he felt. But his fear laced through him like a thing untamed: what if this ruined everything?

"Do you mean that, or are you just scared?"

Albus looks up. Scorpius is a head taller than him since his growth spurt the previous year. His hair is sweetly swept over his forehead, his eyes are the palest blue, and his features are pointed and angry—only Albus can soothe them.

"I just want you," Scorpius adds. "All the time. Please, let me."

Scorpius dips his face, kisses the line of Albus' strong neck with tentative sincerity. Albus cannot help the moan that roars from his throat in bestial timbre.

The passion that swells up between them is sudden and explosive. Soon, Scorpius' hands are everywhere, and Scorpius has his mouth, and Scorpius has his dick, and Scorpius has all of him that he craves and desires. They are rutting, rubbing, panting, right in the middle of a darkened hallway, right where anyone could stumble upon them, but they are the only two people in the entire world.

Albus grips all of Scorpius he can manage, learning the angles of his body and the things that drive him to the brink. All clothes remain on, save a stray tie or two, but their first orgasms together wrack their bodies like nothing else.

When the tremors cease, Scorpius is slumping against Albus, mouthing warm nothings against his red neck, kissing the thick-pulsing veins, licking the love-bites he left behind. Albus slides his fingers through Scorpius' soft hair. They kiss. Time stops.

~*~

Outside, it is snowing. The winds are howling through the castle walls, beating against the windowpanes, rattling the rooftops. Along the perimeter of the grounds, the poinsettias are frozen over, coated with crystal-white snowflakes, happily slumped from the weight.

Inside, it is warm. There is a makeshift fire roaring in the Prefect bathroom, contained in a fireplace that has never been there before. The fire casts stray red and orange shadows across the room and onto two boys who are kissing in the tub. The water splashes, the bubbles slither and float, and the fire crackles with the scent of cinnamon.

Albus pulls away first to raise himself out of the water, wearing nothing but his Slytherin tie, which is drenched from being in the water. The tie is fitted tight around his neck, and it is clear it is not being used for a fashion statement. The bubbles in the water cling to Albus' broad chest, crawl down his taut stomach, and drizzle over his toned, olive-skinned thighs.

Albus lays himself out on the porcelain, laughing breathlessly. Scorpius follows but a moment later, crawling like a cat on the prey from the tub and over Albus' body. Scorpius' Ravenclaw tie is wrapped three times around his neck and loose now though there are loving red lines wrapping around his throat from how tight it was earlier. The water and bubbles drip between their bodies, dissolving into skin and pooling around them like a halo.

"Once more?" Scorpius asks, blue eyes bright and nostrils flared. Albus knows this means he is aroused. And if he couldn't tell by the expression, Scorpius' hard length is prodding him in the thigh to second his conclusion.

"Yeah," Albus says, reaching up to grip the loose ends of Scorpius' tie to tug them. Well, he cannot resist Scorpius like this, all soapy and pruned and unkempt with water flooding his slim body.

They kiss first. Always kissing, their lips should be one by now, as they always meet first at the mouth, then at the throat, then down the chest, and so on, as if there is a formula for these things. But it is never formulaic, never boring, always new, always something to discover and claim.

This time, Scorpius whispers the spell and Albus bucks wordlessly into it. Albus lets loose a whine, throat bared and begging for Scorpius' mouth.

"Oh," Albus grunts, " _Merlin_."

This will not be a first. Albus usually does the taking, but he is not averse to the other way around, and the two boys are constantly flipping coins for who gets to do what and the new things they should try. Still, it is surprising to Albus, and he loves it and reaches above his own head to stretch his body out beneath his lover's. Scorpius takes full advantage of the wet planes of Albus' body, sucking and mouthing and licking all the water until Albus is air-dry and covered with Scorpius' scent.

Scorpius penetrates swiftly, the full length sliding in with a single buck. Albus grunts again—Scorpius knows how he likes it, how it gets him off to feel every inch rubbing and pressing and _filling_. Albus has to bite his lip to hold back the scream, even when he knows Scorpius would love to hear it let free from the confines of his tight throat like a howl to the moon.

Now Scorpius is lifting Albus' legs. This is new. At first, Albus feels uncomfortable as Scorpius presses his knees nearly to his shoulders, but then he feels it—Scorpius slides out, slides back in, and there it is, white-hot pressure rubbed raw somewhere within. Albus shouts—this time he cannot help it—and then he grips his dick and then he abandons his own building climax in favor of holding his legs for Scorpius. Albus can barely breathe, but he is swaying in ecstasy as Scorpius rides into him and comes inside him and pants over him.

Albus does not ask. When he is sure Scorpius is done and Scorpius begins to pull out, Albus is on him, pressing Scorpius down against the cold, wet tiles with two fingers seeking penetration. Albus finds the target when Scorpius shifts, and shoves both fingers in hard. Scorpius makes a high, pitched noise like he is in pain, but Albus knows his body well enough by now—that is what Scorpius likes, the rush of it all at once, the firm and unyielding thrusts to the hilt.

"Gods," Scorpius pants. "Gods, _yes_ , Albus, yes, fucking Merlin yes."

Scorpius has a dirty mouth when they fuck, and Albus gets off on it. He continues to thrust in and out, watching the emotions flicker over Scorpius' pointed face—a snarl, a grunt, a laugh, a parting of his lips, a squeeze shut of his eyes, the jut of his bones, the pulse of his heart right there in his throat.

Then Albus is inside him. He feels a little rushed, a little frantic, and he is sweating, and the fire casts them in the perfect light. It does not take long to finish, but Albus drags it out, slow and long and beautiful, until Scorpius is hard again and jerking himself with sobs and thrashing pleasure.

Albus comes with a jolt, and Scorpius follows him over the edge. Albus lays on top of Scorpius, panting quietly as they both wind down. The strange thing about sex with Scorpius is that Albus feels he could go on for days and never wear himself out. He kisses Scorpius' chest where his head is resting, hoping this says more than his words ever could.

~*~

Outside, it is snowing—the poinsettias in the garden are dusted and matted with white-silver winter.

Inside, everything is perfect in a brand-new London flat. Albus and Scorpius are on their knees at the hearth, smiling and looking worried and nervous and exhilarated.

Scorpius goes first. There is no ceremony or crowd as he presses the slim, silver band with small diamonds to Albus' finger. Albus grins like an idiot, beams like the happiest man on earth, and follows suit.

They hold and pause, just a moment, and then kiss.

"Happy Christmas, Scorpius," Albus whispers.

"Happy Christmas, Al."


End file.
